


Taking the Punishment

by WritingsOfAHobbit



Series: Thorin/Reader Stories [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Violence, Whipping, not graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 19:29:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1659836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingsOfAHobbit/pseuds/WritingsOfAHobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Each strike will sting your skin, but the pain never comes, only the guilt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking the Punishment

The rope restraining your wrists cuts into your skin, rubbing them raw. The tips of your fingers are going numb at the loss of blood, the cold only hurrying the loss of feeling. Your hands have been behind you back for days now, your arms stiff and painful to move. You’re only given relief when you go to the toilet before they’re tied back up again, tighter than before.

 You kneel on the rocky ground in tattered trousers. Sharp stone cuts into your skin and mud makes moving a tricky business.  You’re hunched in attempt to shield yourself from the icy sheets of rain and preserve what little is left you dignity. Your shirt has been stripped from your back, leaving you in nothing but a thin, soaked through vest. The thin fabric clings tightly to your skin. Your hair stings your eyes as you clamp them shut, refusing to make eye contact with any of the watching dwarves. You don’t want to see their pity. You don’t want to see their fear.

Each of them is guarded by a tall, ugly…. well, you don’t know what they are. All you know is that they look like orc-humans hybrics with grey skin and pointed teeth. Whatever they are, they aren’t fond of dwarves.

You haven’t seen Bilbo in two days. He’s probably hidden himself with his ring and, you pray, is looking for a way to release you all. You can't help but wish him to hurry up. If he would like to make a heroic entrance, now would be the time.

There’s another grey creature behind you, which is the reason you’re on your knees. In his hand he holds a whip. It’s made of leather and has a small, metal ball at its tip. He plans to make an example of you, one that no one will forget for some time.

The dwarves are pleading, you can hear them begging the grey beast to reconsider, to take them instead. The grey man laughs, a cruel and unpleasant sound as he raises the whip. He says something in his guttural language and you briefly wonder where you went wrong, how you managed to draw attention to yourself.

You've already promised yourself that you'll keep quiet. You won’t give the grey creature the pleasure of hearing you in pain. He’s promised you ten strikes. Ten strikes will leave you bloody and unable to walk, but alive and humiliated. It’s what he wants.

You tense, waiting for the sting of the whip.

The leather cracks, breaking the night, but no pain comes. The rain stops and warmth spreads across your back. You open your eyes to see Thorin’s pained face over your shoulder. He says nothing to you, but the look in his eyes tells you that you’re not to argue.

“What is this?” the grey man asks, voice heavy with the accent of his native tongue, pulling back the whip. “Honour among dwarves? Will you take the punishment in her place, dwarf?”

Thorin says nothing, nodding and keeping his eyes fixed on you. You lay you hand over his, entwining you fingers. You silently plead with him to leave you be, but he makes no move to return to his captor.

The grey man laughs, raising the whip again. Nine times more it strikes Thorin’s scarcely covered back, and each time his face contorts with more agony. Once the whip is stilled the grey man steps back, examining his handy work.  “Not bad, dwarf.” He spits.

He must have raised the whip again because Dwalin’s voice cuts harshly through the air. “Touch him again and we’ll kill you!”

The grey man laughs.  “You’re all tied up!” he smirks. “There’s nothing to stop me from turning this whip on you!”

Thorin is shaking against your back, breaths coming in ragged pants as he forces himself to remain kneeling. His arms will soon buckle under his weight, and the only thing keeping him up now is the fact he will land on you should he fall.

“Take them all back to the cave.” The grey beast orders. Other grey beings surge forwards, pulling Thorin roughly to his feet and dragging him back towards the cold, damp cave that is serving as a cell. Another pulls you to your feet, pushing you after him.

The cell you all share is large enough for ten men, so there’s ample room for you all. There’s also enough room for Thorin to collapse on the ground once the door has been shut. Oin and Balin rush to his side, peeling his shirt from his back to reveal the torn, bloodied skin. Fili fetches water from a small trickle at the far side of the cave. Balin and Oin clean and dress the oozing wounds as Thorin lays limp on the floor.

Carefully you kneel at his head, taking his face in your hands. “Thank you.” You whisper softly, ducking your head to kill his hair.

He looks up at you with dull eyes, but a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “t’s all right.” He says weakly, resting his head in his lap.

“You shouldn't have done it.”

“Couldn’t see you hurt.”

Balin looks up at you and smiles knowingly before returning to his wounds.

“Regardless, you’re a fool.” He chuckles gently resting a hand on the small of your back in a form of hug, before dropping it to the floor beside you. “Bilbo will get us out of here.” you assure him. “But sleep. Rest, heal and tomorrow will be brighter. You duck you head to kiss his hair again, smoothing a thumb over his forehead. 

**Author's Note:**

> Previously published on my Tumblr. account of the same name.


End file.
